


Jason's Blind Date

by glitter_in_the_dark



Category: A Nightmare on Elm Street (Movies 1984-1994), Friday the 13th Series (Movies), Hellraiser (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 22:37:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11678505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitter_in_the_dark/pseuds/glitter_in_the_dark
Summary: Jason Voorhees waits for his blind date to arrive. Gross and graphic and ridiculous.





	Jason's Blind Date

Jason Voorhees was nervous. It had been a long time since he had gone on a date--and this was a blind one! He has spent the whole afternoon in his cabin by the lake getting ready: polishing his hockey mask, brushing his seven tufts of hair, and even sharpening his machete in case things got kinky. He knew he owed his friend big-time for setting this up. Despite being nervous, he was also excited. Jason had been lonely, and it was hard for him to express his feelings, as his misshapen, undead face made verbal communication near impossible. Plus there weren’t too many people into misshapen undead guys. Yet Jason’s friend had, despite his narcissism, picked up on Jason’s loneliness and decided to set him up with someone. He had been a good friend, despite their occasional quarrels and dismemberments. Regardless of how the night was to go, Jason decided he would write his friend a thank-you letter. Thanks, Freddy.

After cleaning up the last of the dead teenagers, Jason Voorhees was more or less ready for his date to arrive. He sat at the little wooden table on a little wooden chair and waited. He had a few candles burning on the table to set the mood. Had his heart not been undead, it would have been beating hard as he stared at the door in anticipation.

Finally, he heard a knock. Jason almost knocked over the table in excitement. But he heard his mother whispering softly from beyond the grave: “Keep-keep-keep... cool-cool-cool.” And he knew  she was right; he had to play it cool to impress whoever it was behind the door. Slowly, the tall, deformed, undead serial killer lumbered to the door, paused, and opened.

There was no one there. Was this another of Freddy’s tricks? That burnt bastard was such a sadist.

But then he noticed the package on the doorstep. It was small--about the size of a skull--and wrapped in brown paper. There was no return address. The only words written on it were, “Open me.”

Jason took the package inside, disappointed but curious. He tore off the paper and found inside a strange wooden box, ornately decorated with gold patterns. He turned it around in his huge hands, feeling the intricate carvings with his fingers. Suddenly, the box moved. It pulled and twisted itself into a new shape like some sort of high-tech Rubik’s cube. Jason was intrigued. He pulled and twisted the box more, turning it round and round, trying to solve the puzzle before him. He had never been very bright, but somehow his fingers seemed to know what they were doing, almost as if the box itself was guiding him.

After turns and twists, the box became a box again, its moving parts slipping back into a cube. At first, nothing happened. But then, Jason felt and then heard a rumbling, growing louder and louder as the sky outside the window grew blacker. Suddenly the floorboards exploded as chains shot up out of the floor, hooking themselves into the ceiling. Several of the chains bore hooks, from which hung chunks of human flesh.

A dark figure rose from the shadows of a far corner of the room. Jason could hear the figure’s heavy footsteps as it slowly came closer to him and the light of the candles. He could see a gleaming--a shininess to the body, like a wetness, and heard the sounds of tight, creaking leather amidst the clinking of swinging metal chains. The figure finally stepped close enough into the light. Jason could see the strong features of a pale man’s face. His head was entirely hairless and covered with grid-like scars, and from each of the dozens of intersections protruded a long, steel nail.

“Greetings,” his deep voice boomed, “from Hell.”

Jason stood motionless. Even if he had possessed the power of speech, he would still not have been able to utter a word. He had never seen a man so grotesque as this--so terrifying, so hideous... so... sexy.

“And who are you?” said the man, looking directly into Jason’s wide eyes. “To whom have I been sent? And what pleasures shall I... inflict?”

When he received no answer, the man continued: “Come, now. Do not be silent. It is a mockery of pain!” The man rushed over to where Jason stood and ripped off his mask.

Jason’s muscles tightened. He felt so naked without his mask on. Surely this strange, creepy man would hate him now that he could see how deformed he was. He felt so ashamed.

The man gasped. When he spoke again, it was in whisper. “Exquisite,” he breathed. The man extended a hand toward Jason’s face. “May I?” he asked softly.

Jason was afraid, but the man was staring at him not in horror, but in a kind of wonder. His empty, black eyes held a kind of tenderness Jason had never before seen. He felt something stirring within his unbeating, undead heart. He nodded.

The man touched him---gently. His fingertips, pointer and pinky wrapped in leather, softly caressed his monstrous features--his bulging cranium, decayed nose, scarred flesh. The man inhaled shakily. “In all my centuries, I have never seen such a beautiful creature.”

Jason’s hands were shaking. He had only ever been touched kindly by his mother, years and years ago. But this was different. This was... special. He raised a hand slowly, cautiously, and set it on the man’s many-pinned face.

The man raised his other hand and held Jason’s hand to his face. “Tell me, wondrous creature,” he said, “Do you speak?”

Jason shook his head.

In response, the man moved his free hand to Jason’s very large forehead and closed his eyes. A kind of static charge bolted through his fingers. Jason could see his own memories flashing vividly before his eyes. He knew the man could see them, too. He also knew--somehow--that the man was called Pinhead.

“Ah!” Pinhead exclaimed, removing his hand from Jason’s forehead. “Such sweet suffering! But I can tell, my dear Jason Voorhees--“ the man thrust his hand down between Jason’s legs and gripped an enormous bulge-- “that you are hungry for more.”

Jason blushed and began to sweat nervously. But he nodded. He wanted Pinhead to touch him all over his body--and inside, too.

Pinhead smiled. “Excellent,” he whispered. And more chains with hooks shot out of the floor, tearing at Jason’s coveralls. A few even caught his skin as they shot past him. In seconds, he was standing naked and bleeding before the sexy man from hell.

Pinhead ran a hand across Jason’s bleeding chest, wetting his fingers with a thick, blackish blood. He brought it to his own lips and licked. “Delicious,” he said, then offered his hand to Jason’s mouth. Jason tasted, too, and it _was_ delicious. But he wanted more. His jagged teeth bit down and drew an even blacker, tastier blood from his palm. Pinhead sighed with a half-smile. “This is my body,” he said, gripping Jason’s jaw with his other hand. “This is my blood.” He squeezed, forcing Jason to rip a chunk of flesh from his hand. “Take and eat.”

Jason chewed the piece of hand and swallowed. He was glad he did not order a pizza. This was so much better. He licked his lips. There was still blood on them, but he could not tell if it was his own or Pinhead’s... or both.

Pinhead leaned in and began licking Jason’s lips as well, running a cold blue tongue across his face. Their mouths met, and they kissed with a passion only the undead and demonic can know.

Pinhead drew back and gazed deeply into Jason’s eyes, shifting between his good eye and his drooping, blind eye. “Ah, my Jason,” he said. “I have such sights to show you!” He stood back and, in one sweeping motion, tore off his leather. With it came most of his skin. Or perhaps the leather had been his skin. But now Pinhead was also naked, his own muscles exposed, pierced with metal hooks and rings  and glittering with fresh blood in the candlelight.

Also glistening in the dim, flickering light was Jason’s monster zombie cock, lubricated by his own blood. He began to stroke himself.

“No,” said Pinhead. “Allow me.” He raised the hand from which Jason had eaten and brought it to his own mouth. He bit a large piece from the back, crunching through bone, then spit it out onto the floor. There was now a large hole through his hand, and it was this hole he brought to Jason’s cock head.

Jason’s cock was so big it barely fit through the hole in Pinhead’s hand, but he thrust into it in earnest. As he went, lubricated now blood from them both, the broken bones in Pinhead’s hand scrapped and gouged at his dick. Pain and pleasure were indistinguishable--and intense.

He looked at Pinhead’s own prick, then, and the sight made him stop his thrusts. It was less of a penis and more of a bleeding, skinless limb, wrapped with thick veins and something like barbed wire, and tipped with several blades and spikes. Jason moaned softly at the sight of it. It was a moan both of fear and intense desire.

Pinhead’s cold black eyes caught his lustful gaze, and he laughed. “Do you wish me to impale you upon my spike like a pig on a spit?”

Jason nearly swooned but nodded. _Yes, demon master,_ he thought.

“So be it,” said Pinhead, and chains again burst forth and formed a sling and bound Jason tightly to it. His ass was open wide... and waiting.

Pinhead approached Jason’s outstretched body. The sharp, multi-bladed tips of Pinhead’s dick scraped softly against Jason’s asshole, drawing blood.

Jason moaned. He tried to form words and could only make grunts. So instead, he looked deeply into Pinhead’s eyes with his one good eye and willed him to understand the thought, “Fuck me.”

Pinhead understood. He smiled, baring his teeth. “I’LL TEAR YOUR HOLE APART!” He plunged inside.

Jason could feel his insides being broken just by the sheer enormity of the cock, and all those tiny knives and barbs lacerated him as if his guts had been placed in a blender.  The pain was unbearable, but it was pleasure, too. As Pinhead split him open, he could also sense the opening of hell far below him, drawing nearer. With pain and pleasure mounting far beyond what he had ever known or even imagined, the floor tore open. As black and grey blood gushed out of his asshole, red flames rose up from the floor’s hole, licking and blistering his back. He was indeed a pig on a spit. He became aware he was squealing.

“Yes,” groaned Pinhead. “Such blissful agony!” Then, in his hand, appeared Jason’s own machete. “I want to taste it.” And, still thrusting, he pointed the sharp end of the machete to Jason’s body and cut off a thin piece of flesh. He held it for a moment in the growing flames until it sizzled, then he brought it to his grinning teeth and tore off a piece. Chewing, he leaned into Jason until their faces met. Jason opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, pleading to taste it too. Pinhead smiled, and together they gnawed on Jason’s flesh.

The flames rose higher. Jason’s blood began to boil, and his flesh began to char. He did not know how much longer he could last. He knew he was close to death. He was also close to cumming.

He looked again at Pinhead, who seemed to be sweating blood out of his many nail holes. Was he close, too? The speed of his thrusts remained steady, but they seemed to be increasing in force.

Just as Jason thought he could take no more, Pinhead grabbed at his chest with large hooks protruding from his fingers that dug deep into Jason’s flesh. He let out a hellish roar which shook the small cabin, and a congealed liquid both hotter than fire and colder than ice gushed into Jason’s destroyed asshole. As it flooded into him, and as the fire melted the last of his pubic hair, Jason himself exploded a greenish goo across his torn, bloodied, burning body. And as he released his zombie load, he felt his spirit fade from his body. He sighed a deep, indescribably contented sigh, and died.

Thirteen days later, he awoke from a nightmare. It was a good nightmare. He saw his friend Freddy and told him all about the blind date. _Thank you, Freddy,_ Jason thought.

“You’re welcome, pig!” laughed Freddy.

He awoke at the bottom of his lake, physically restored but with more scars, which he caressed fondly as he remembered the way Pinhead had mutilated him. He discovered he had resurrection wood. Imagining his hand was chewed-out hand hole, he began to stroke himself.

Jason Voorhees was happy.


End file.
